


All Of Me Is Broken

by fortymaliks



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-04
Packaged: 2017-12-04 07:37:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/708201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortymaliks/pseuds/fortymaliks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Honestly, I don't know why I come here.”</p><p>“It's because of my excellent advice and counsel.” Nick grins, cheekily. Louis stands up from his chair, tugs his jacket onto his shoulder, laughing while he does it.</p><p>“My half-hour's up.”</p><p>“Oh,” Nick says, “so it is.”</p><p>(An AU in which Nick is a psychiatrist and Louis is one of his patients.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Of Me Is Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the amazing [silverspotted](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silverspotted/pseuds/silverspotted) for the beta. May her hockey teams always win, and if they don't, may that result in a lot of fic about post-loss comfort sex. Any remaining mistakes are my own.
> 
> The title comes from the song [Four Faces](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Exm56pNXXUw) by the Who, though I almost named it "Two Sides To Fight, Argue All Night", from that same song.
> 
> I want to make it known from the start that I know nothing about psychology, psychiatry, counseling, etc. (Though I'm sure that if you are someone who DOES know about these things, the story will make that clear.) This was meant to be fun, and I have nothing but the utmost respect for these professions and practices.

“Maybe you should stop, then, there's a thought,” Nick says.

Louis spares him a glare, says, “Oh, fuck off.”

Nick is used to Louis' outbursts of aggression by now. He sits quietly, doodles in the corner of his notepad, and waits him out.

“I can't stop, it's like...” Louis' eyes meet Nick's, quickly, before flashing away. “I can't stop.”

“Why do you think that is?” Nick chews on the end of his pen, psychoanalysis 101. Ask questions, always ask why. The fact that Nick's genuinely curious... that's beside the point.

“It's what I'm good at,” Louis says quietly. This time, he doesn't lift his eyes to Nick's, instead tips his head slightly to peer out the window.

Nick's heart misses its cue, and pounds a bit too fast the second time to make up for it. His paper swims in front of him, his scribbles blurring. “Louis...”

“Yeah, alright, no, that's not why. I want to. I do it because I want to. And it's fun. Live while you're young, right?”

“Right.” Nick makes sure he raises an eyebrow high enough that Louis gets that he's using sarcasm.

“Honestly, I don't know why I come here.”

“It's because of my excellent advice and counsel.” Nick grins, cheekily. Louis stands up from his chair, tugs his jacket onto his shoulder, laughing while he does it.

“My half-hour's up.”

“Oh,” Nick says, “so it is.”

***

If Nick doesn't want to get out of bed on a Tuesday morning, it's not because he doesn't like his job. He could be on his way to be knighted by the Queen and his alarm blaring at five in the morning would still offend him to his very core.

Then again, if he were yanking himself out of bed to attend a session with old Lizzie herself, he'd be a lot better off financially. And, Nick supposes, as he haphazardly shoves his toothbrush into his mouth, he'd have much more interesting stories to tell his friends.

Not that Nick would ever do that. He's a professional.

He throws on his suit and grabs his keys. He vows to start making his own coffee in the mornings as he counts the change in the cup holder of his car to see if he's got enough for a coffee run. He's got it, just barely.

On the drive to work, he goes over his day in his head. Patrick; nice bloke, but can't come into Nick's office before he finishes counting all the tiles on the waiting room floor. He's got Jillian, who does intake at a centre for troubled youth, and Mrs. Stratheran, who Nick is pretty sure is just lonely.

The people Nick sees all have problems, some big, some small, but they're all important to the person whose problems they are. This is something that Nick has become practised at believing. He wouldn't have thought he'd be good at it, but he can do it now. He can hold his tongue while he listens to a young woman rant about how she'd gone through her boyfriend's phone and found that he'd been texting a number that could possibly be another woman, when hours ago he had held a sobbing recently widowed older man who'd tried to take his life several times.

Matt says that it's a good thing Nick went into psychiatry, that it's taught him some compassion. Nick thinks that possibly he's just gotten better at keeping his opinions to himself.

“Fuck off, Finchy.” Nick mutters, under his breath, hoping that somewhere in the London, Matt's ears are burning. He pulls into his parking space, pushes the gearshift to park, and sighs. Tuesdays.

It's a lot easier to get out of bed on Wednesdays. On Wednesdays, he sees Louis.

***

The first time he'd seen him, popping his head out of his office door and calling for Louis Tomlinson, Nick had almost choked on his tongue.

The bloke who had stood up and smiled at him was downright gorgeous, all long lines and tan skin. He wasn’t wearing socks in his shoes, Nick had noticed immediately, and he’d wanted to make some snide remark about that, but he hadn’t.

Nick has two different personalities, one for work and one for his real life. He was at work then, no matter how much the attractive creature standing in front of him made him wish he weren't.

“I'm new to this, actually,” Louis had said when they were alone in his office, sitting down gingerly on Nick's chair. Nick had noted that Louis had forgone the sofa, something quite common in new patients. Too stereotypical.

“Right, well,” Louis had begun, and Nick had leaned back into his chair slightly, trying to appear relaxed so that his patient will, too. “The thing is, I'm a right mess.”

Nick had thought, aren't we all, and then laid his pen down as Louis started to talk.

***

“You're late.” Nick says, not even bothering to stop with the papers that he's been shuffling around his desk when he hears the door open and Louis walk in.

“Sorry,” Louis sighs, dropping his bag on the carpet and throwing himself dramatically onto the sofa.

Nick snorts, “You are not.” He grins when Louis shrugs, finally drops his papers and moves to his chair. If any other patient came waltzing in this late, Nick would reschedule. Any other patient, and Nick would be annoyed. He suspects that Louis knows this.

“So what's happened this week, then? How are things with Henry?”

“His name's Harry,” Louis hums, “and we've decided that we work better as friends. Flatmates, even. He's moved in.”

“Louis, I'm not so sure that's a good idea...”

“Good thing you're not my mother, then, isn't it? And you said specifically that I might do well to make some friends, instead of just fucking half the...”

“That's not really what I meant, and you know that.”

“Ha!” Louis crosses his arms triumphantly. "Two whole sentences in a row, and not one single 'and how does that make you feel?'. You're getting rusty, Grimshaw.”

“And how does that make you feel, Louis?”

“Like I need to find myself a new shrink.”

***

Sometimes Louis is in his usual mood, hyper and beaming. He makes jokes, and when he talks to Nick, opens up and tells Nick his secrets, he's self-deprecating. Nick's not sure if it's his training or the fact that he's getting to know Louis that allows him to see through the light-hearted words. He can see that Louis' actually hurting.

Other times, Louis doesn't have the energy to mask anything, and those are the days that Nick finds the hardest. He wants to get on the couch with Louis, pull him close and be there for him. Nick's never been particularly motherly, and he's never wanted to cross that professional line before, but Louis brings it out in him.

“What did you do last night, then?” Nick asks, after they've been sitting in silence for at least five minutes. Louis huffs out a breath, and Nick can see the white spots on his skin where his fingers dig in from crossing his arms across his chest so hard.

“That's not really any of your business, is it?” he spits, and even though Nick is practised enough not to show that the words affected him at all, they still kind of sting. He takes a deep breath, stares at Louis across from him, before he speaks again.

“You’re paying me to make it my business.” Nick says, and this is where it's tricky. Because Nick, well, he's not perfect, and while he prides himself of being professional ninety nine percent of the time, with Louis it's different. Somewhere over the past few months, Nick's allowed himself to start thinking of Louis as a friend and not a patient, not a client. And with friends...

Well, with friends, Nick pushes. He winds them up and makes them hurt and tell him everything, the brutal honest truth, and maybe it's mean, but yeah, non-professional Nick is just the slightest bit mean sometimes. Especially when his friends deserve it.

The Louis that Nick is confronted with right now, he deserves it. He's got his bottom lip stuck out petulantly, and his eyes roll every time Nick says anything, and he's aiming his words to hurt Nick, and it's just not okay. Nick wants to rile him up, to get him going.

He doesn't, though. He just sighs, and folds his arms into a mirror image of Louis'.

“I guess nothing you ever tell me is really any of my business, now, is it?” Nick allows himself, not the scathing words he wants to say, but just a little bit less professional than he'd normally go for.

And Louis snorts at him in disbelief, standing abruptly and grabbing his coat. He storms across the room, ripping the door open and aiming a “no, I suppose it isn't.” back in Nick's direction before slamming the door closed behind him.

Nick goes home that night and upgrades his usual glass of wine to a tumbler of whiskey.

***

“I've brought you a cake,” Louis says the next Wednesday, setting it down on Nick's desk as Nick blinks up at him. “Harry baked it for me, but I iced it myself.”

Nick glances down at the cake in front of him. It's got purple icing with sloppy, horrid lettering that says, “congrats on your face”.

When Louis meets his eyes, Nick knows that what this cake is really saying is, “I'm sorry”.

“Thanks,” Nick says, “I think.” He hopes that Louis knows he's really saying that there's nothing to forgive, because he's a bloody shrink and he gets yelled at all the time.

It doesn't explain why Nick's chest feels a little looser that week, though. He's not supposed to accept gifts from clients, let alone baked goods, easily poisoned, those, but he sneaks the cake home anyway.

***

Nick thinks he knows himself pretty well. He knows what he wants, and he knows his limits, and though he may pretend to be someone else at work, though he might never admit a lot of things about himself to his friends and family, one person Nick hasn't ever lied to is himself.

He can't lie about the fact that he's sat there, week after week, listening to Louis Tomlinson talk about his conquests, the messes he gets himself into, his self-esteem issues, and that every new story he hears makes him care about Louis just a little bit more. He can't listen to his laugh, big and bright, he can't hear his quiet questions, “why did I do that, Nick?” He can't see the light in his eyes and pretend that he isn't falling quietly in love with him.

***

 

“I've noticed,” Louis starts one day, “that you've never recommended Alcoholics Anonymous or something like that.”

Nick peers at him, raises an eyebrow. “Do you think you need something like that, then?”

Louis is quick to shake his head. “No,” he says, “but I thought you would think I need it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because my other friends, they worry. They lecture me about the drinking, and I just thought... you would.”

It takes Nick longer to sort out his answer than he would like it to, mostly because he's still stuck on when Louis said “his other friends”, as if Nick were a friend, too. He'd like that. He wants to be.

“If you want me to set you up in a program, Louis, all you have to do is ask.”

“I don't want that. I'm not... I don't think I need that. I don't need the alcohol, I just. It's fun.”

“And the sex?” Nick doesn't mean to ask that, he swears he doesn't, but it comes out anyway.

“The sex is fun, too.” Louis' voice is shining with confidence, but Nick knows him well enough to see through it.

***

“Maybe I have, like, a sexual addiction. Whatever it's called, you know, like, maybe I'm a sex addict.”

“What, like Russell Brand?” Nick frowns.

Louis laughs. “Yes. Exactly like Russell Brand. I'm also as charming and hilarious.”

“And the whole Katy Perry thing?”

“Nah, not really my type, is she?” Louis' smirks up at Nick.

“Not from what I've heard, no.”

“So, a sex addict, do you think, maybe?”

“Not more than the rest of us, I don't think.”

“And is that your professional opinion?”

“Yeah, Louis.” Nick says, meeting his eyes. “It is.”

Louis watches Nick like he's calculating something.

It's ironic, Nick thinks, how afraid he is of being analyzed, of people knowing his secrets. Louis is looking through him like he's trying to figure something out. Louis is looking at him like he's close to seeing something.

“Uh, that's the half-hour, then,” he stammers out, jumping to his feet. He sees Louis to the door, mumbles about their appointment next week.

***

Louis doesn't show up the next Wednesday, and he doesn't call to cancel his appointment, either. Nick has Fiona call him to remind him, like he does with all his clients who miss their time-slot, but he doesn't answer.

With most of his patients, Nick's got contacts in place for this. In his line of work, missed appointments could mean a bigger deal than most, so his files are usually set up with list of family and friends that he can call to make sure things are alright. With Louis, Nick has nothing, doesn't really know anyone, really, except the name Harry and the information that Louis shares his flat with him. Months of knowing Louis, and Nick's kicking himself for not knowing more.

He manages to finish out the week, working through each of his appointments on autopilot. He sees Aimee, one of his favorite clients, on Thursday and a young teenaged girl whose parents have been going through a divorce on Friday. He has Fiona call Louis' contact number several times each of those days, but there's never an answer.

When Matt and Henry call to make plans for Friday night, he begs off, telling them he's too tired, which is the truth, though that's never stopped him before.

He changes out of his suit as soon as he gets home, pulling on a pair of threadbare jeans and a worn t-shirt. He falls asleep on the couch watching reruns of Friends.

When his phone wakes him up, he has no idea what time it is until he glances at the clock. It's just after 3am, so he groans, figuring it’s Henry ringing him for a ride home. Pushing himself into a sitting position on the couch, he ignores the crick in his neck as he thumbs the call button on his phone.

“Hello?”

“Nick?” It takes Nick a moment in this context to put a face and a name to the voice, but when he realizes that it's Louis, he's suddenly wide awake.

“Louis?” Nick, asks, standing up, though he's not sure where he's going, “Louis, what...”

“I need you to come get me.”

***

Nick doesn't think he's ever left his house so quickly. He'd pressed his feet into a pair of Chucks and thrown on a hoodie, and he'd been out the door in less than a minute. The address Louis gave him is burned into his memory.

He's got so many questions to ask as he drives, like how Louis got his personal number, why he's calling Nick of all people, and is he okay. It's the last one that has Nick pressing a little harder on the pedal than usual.

His GPS guides him out of the busier city streets, past the lights and into a residential area where the houses are built more closely together.

As he gets nearer to his destination, he sees a figure sitting on the side of the curb, and there's nobody else it could be. He pulls up, and pushes the gearshift into park.

He looks okay, Nick thinks, as he watches Louis press himself up off the curb and stumble forward, catching himself on the passenger side door of Nick's car. He manages to pull it open while Nick's still frozen in the driver's seat, unable to figure out what to do in this situation. Louis falls into the seat and closes the door behind him.

“You came.” he says quietly, but he won't look over at Nick, just stares out the front window.

“Of bloody course I came, Louis, it's the middle of the fucking night and you, you...” He doesn't mean to be so angry right away, but he can't help it, and he watches as Louis shrinks down slightly.

“I'm sorry, I didn't... have anyone else to call. Harry wasn't picking up.” His voice is small when he says it, like he really is sorry, like he thinks that maybe he made a mistake calling Nick, and so Nick shuts up.

“No, Lou, that's not what I meant, it's. Of course you can call me, any time. You're my...” He's going to say “friend”, but he stops himself, not sure if Louis would agree. “I wouldn't leave you alone out here,” he finishes, aware of how lame that sounds, but needing Louis to know it.

Louis nods, but doesn't say anything else, so Nick pushes a but further. “What are you doing here? What happened?”

“I was at a bar,” Louis tells him, “Drinking with some friends, but they went home, and I came here with... someone, it's not really important who.”

Nick scoffs, then. He's off-duty, now, and he's pretty sure that Louis has hurled them over the line from doctor and client tonight, so he figures it's okay. Louis finally looks up at him, meets his eye, and then glances just as quickly down at what Nick's wearing.

“I've never seen you wear actual clothes before,” he says, biting into the side of his lip like Nick knows he does when he's thinking.

“Louis, finish your story.”

“Right,” Louis says, dragging his eyes back up to Nick's, “Like I said, I came home with someone, and we... well, but then I wanted to go home, but I didn't know where I was or how to get back. And I don't have my wallet, I think I left it in my coat at the bar. And I called Harry, but he didn't pick up, he sleeps through everything, only Zayn is worse than he is, and I didn't know what to do, so I called you.”

He braces himself, like Nick might yell at him again, but Nick is completely at a loss for what to do or say, so he puts the car into drive and sets off back towards the busier section of the city.

They ride in silence for a bit, after Louis tells Nick his home address. Nick steals little glances sideways at him, wondering if he's fallen asleep, because he's never seen Louis be quiet for this amount of time before. He's never seen Louis drinking before, either, or anywhere else besides his office. He finds himself wanting to memorize details. He wants to know Louis in other settings, too, what he's like at home, with his other friends... he wants to know Louis, properly.

After a while, Louis startles him by breaking the silence.

“His name was Greg,” he says as Nick switches lanes.

“Who, the bloke from tonight?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick sees Louis shake his head. He keeps talking.

“We were together for a year. We lived together, stupid, I know, we were just kids, but... yeah. Greg. We would talk about marriage, and children someday. We didn’t really want those things, not then, but we were happy enough that we'd talk about them. But then, one day, he wasn't happy anymore. He just... stopped being happy with me? And I couldn't see what the problem was, there wasn't... nothing was different, it was just... me, I guess. He wasn't happy with me anymore. I was waiting for it, you know? I'd always wonder why he was with me, I never thought I was enough for him. I knew I wasn't enough for him. And he finally realized it. I didn't... there was this other guy, in the end. Someone better. Someone not me.”

“Why've you never mentioned this to me before?” Nick asks, hands gripping the wheel. He looks straight ahead, afraid that if he looks at Louis, he'll stop talking, and that's the last thing that Nick wants.

“I can't quite waltz into a session pissed off my head, now can I? And I wouldn't be telling you any of this if I were sober.”

He leans his head against the window, and Nick wants to reach over and touch Louis, steady him with a hand on his shoulder. He spares a moment wondering if he's allowed, but then he thinks about all the professional rules he's broken so far tonight, and says fuck that. He grips Louis' arm and squeezes tight. Louis looks down at the contact, and then back up at Nick, but Nick doesn't move his hand.

“So that's why, I guess.” Louis tells him, “That's why I do it. All the sex, the partying, I... I'm not meant to settle down. I'm not the type that people want to settle down with.”

“Alright,” Nick says, “so Greg's a fucking asshole.”

Louis laughs, suddenly, like he didn't want to, but couldn't help it. “Is that your professional opinion, then, Grimshaw?”

“Absolutely it is.” Nick says, pulling up beside Louis' building.

“You can tell me, you know. If you think I'm a mess.”

“What?” Nick doesn't understand where this is coming from. He wracks his brain for any possible thing he could ever have said that gave Louis the idea that that is what he thinks of him.

As if Louis can read his mind, he speaks up again, “I know you've never said it, Nick, and you... you're always so nice to me, listening like you do, because it's your job, but I don't want. I don't want to hear from shrink Nick right now, want to hear from you. Just, you can tell me. Tell me, Nick.”

“Louis, we're all a mess.” Nick knows that Louis isn't drunk enough that he won't remember this in the morning, but he's going to say it anyway. He's going to say it, and then he's going to go in on Monday morning and recommend Louis to a different doctor.

“Louis, do you have any idea how many times I've heard this? It's textbook, Lou, absolutely textbook, being rejected and lashing out like this. And that annoys me, because you, Louis Tomlinson, are anything but normal. I've never met anybody like you before. You think that nobody wants you? I don't know what kind of people you surround yourself with, if you can't bloody see that anyone who gets to know you wants to be around you as much as possible. You stopped sleeping with your friend Harry, yeah, and did he go anywhere? No, he's stayed. I've never met him, but it seems to me like he stopped sleeping with you because he wanted to stick around.”

Nick's well aware that he's rambling, but he's not going to stop until he gets this all out, because he's really not planning on seeing Louis any more after this, and it might be his last chance, so.

“You say that you're not worth it. That nobody wants to settle down with you. Maybe if you gave them a chance, Louis, you'd find someone who does. Maybe this fucking Greg didn't want that, but someone else will. Because you're nice, and funny, and you're right fucking fit, and anyone would be lucky to have you.”

When he stops, he's breathing harshly and he can't quite catch his breath again. Louis is staring, though, staring and not screaming and slamming doors, so maybe that's something. Maybe.

“Nick...”

“Anyone would be lucky to have you,” he repeats, because he can't think of words right now, his brain can't form them, and that was the important part anyway.

“Anyone?” Louis asks, the question like a breath, and Nick nods. “You?”

Nick's had a long night and he's not ready for the question when it comes. Since he's too tired to think through the consequences, to come up with any damage control, he just shrugs, resigned, and chuckles sadly. “Yeah, Louis. Fucking me, alright. Probably especially me, I guess.”

“Nick.”

“It's late.” Nick makes himself say, leans over Louis to unlatch his door and press it open, “Goodnight, Louis.” He turns and stares ahead, and he feels eyes on him for several long moments, before he hears Louis pull himself out of the car.

“Goodnight, Nick.” He hears, before the door slams softly.

***

Nick turns his phone off when he gets home, throws it on his kitchen counter, and doesn't look at it again all weekend. He drinks his cupboard dry, passes out as the sun is coming up, and sleeps most of Saturday.

***

On Monday morning, Nick asks Fiona to call Dr. Moyles for a consult, and when he agrees, he asks her to call Louis with Dr. Moyles' information.

He sees a married couple and then a boy named Eric who deals with extreme anxiety. He spends the rest of the day filling out the patient charts that he's been neglecting for months, even though Fiona has always kept Monday afternoons free for that exact purpose.

He's been at it for hours when there's a knock on his door, and Fiona is standing there. “Whoa, Nick, love. Are you ill? Don't tell me you're actually doing paperwork.”

“It is part of the job, Fiona, yes.”

“Oh, I know it is, but I've never seen you actually do it.”

“Is there something you need?” Nick tries his hardest to fix her with a scathing glare, but she just smiles back at him.

“Someone's here for a consult.” She says, and he tells her to see them in, wondering who would have sent him somebody without having scheduled first. Nick wouldn’t actually be surprised if he scheduled this one himself and then forgot about it. He pushes his papers to the side. A few moments later, a tall, lean kid walks through the door. He's got the most absurd hair that Nick has ever seen, these huge, untamed curls that fall in every direction. He goes straight to the couch and leans back on it.

“Dr. Grimshaw,” the kid says, turning and studying Nick even as he relaxes back into the couch. “It's an absolute pleasure.”

“Likewise, I'm sure, mister...” Nick fishes for a name, cursing Fiona that she hadn't given him a chart, or a basic file on this consult.

“Lou said you were older,” he says then, startling Nick out of his thoughts, “but he didn't tell me you were fit. This makes so much more sense, now.”

Nick pushes the panic in his chest down. Pieces of conversation came back to him, _loved it when I pulled his hair, Nick, he's got these curls that are just perfect for it_ , and he remembers now, the descriptions from when Louis had been telling him about...

“You're Harry, then.” Nick says, and Harry nods his conformation.

“And you're the shrink that's got my Lou all turned around.”

“I didn't mean to, I mean, I'm not...” Nick's sitting in his chair stammering, like he's in the middle of a police interrogation.

“Calm down, I wanted to meet you, is all. Louis' been moping around all weekend, he hasn't gone out once. I finally managed to get the story out of him, which, I mean, I told him so. He's been going on about you for months. I wondered if it was mutual, his crush on you. Glad to hear that it is. Not very professional, though, is it?” Harry asks, shaking his head forward so that his hair falls into his eyes, before sweeping it to one side with the palm of his hand.

Nick needs to open his mouth, to defend himself, but before he gets the chance, Harry's talking again. “That's alright. I've never been very big on professional.”

Harry sits up, leaning forward. Nick stares at him, his legs that go on for days, and the easy way he holds his body and tries not to be jealous of all the ways this kid has had Louis than Nick hasn't. It's really not the appropriate time.

“Listen, just don't... don't tell him things unless you mean them.” Harry mutters quietly, after a while, and Nick feels his heart miss a beat.

He absolutely wouldn't have said anything to Louis if he didn't mean it, but there's no way that Louis could know that. Louis doesn't really know Nick at all.

Suddenly, Nick is fighting the panic that is clawing its way up his throat at the thought that Louis doesn't really know anything about Nick. He thinks back to all the time they've spent together, Louis pouring out his heart on the very couch that Harry is sitting on. He thinks of Louis staring at his clothes that night, in the car, and it hits him then that it really had been the only time Louis had ever even seen him in his real clothing.

Louis doesn't know anything about Nick, and Nick needs him to know everything. Because Nick is just as much of a mess as Louis is, and how could Nick not have let him know that?

Even though Nick's about as afraid of Harry as he would be of an angry kitten, he finds himself glad Louis' got somebody sticking up for him.

“I mean the things I said to him.” Nick swears, “I meant it.”

Harry smiles at him, standing up from the couch. “Good. Now go tell him, maybe.”

***

Nick stands at the door of the apartment that Louis shares with Harry for ten minutes before he finally gets the courage to knock.

Louis pulls the door open after a moment, and he looks so good, Nick just wants to shove him up against the doorframe and kiss him. He has things to say, though, first.

Louis freezes when he sees Nick, looks absolutely surprised to see him standing there, so Nick takes it as a good opportunity to start talking.

“I'm a mess,” he begins, “I've never been in a relationship. I don't really do boyfriends.”

Nick pauses, takes a deep breath, and here goes nothing.

“You think you're fucked up, Louis? I'm more fucked up than anyone I've ever met in counselling. I pretend I'm qualified to listen to people's problems when the only reason I do it is that they make me feel better about my own.”

He doesn't stop talking, but Louis is frowning at him, pulling him inside of the apartment and closing the door behind him, probably so that his neighbours don't wonder what kind of people Louis associates with.

“I like a drink,” Nick presses on, “probably more than the average person, I bet I could give you a run for your money. I haven't been to visit my parents in ages, so long that I've been dodging their phone calls because I don't want my mum to yell at me.”

Louis is staring now, and Nick hopes that’s a good thing.

“I can be such a huge asshole. I'm snarky and sarcastic, and when I first told my friends I was going into psychiatry, they laughed at me for a full year. I listen to insufferable music that nobody's ever heard of, and I hate a lot of popular music. The first time I saw the Britney Spears button on your bag, I judged you so hard I almost bit my tongue off not ribbing you about it.”

This is the big finish, he thinks, and he takes a breath. “And I fell for you, anyway. I'm probably the most inappropriate, unprofessional asshole that there is, because I fell in love with you, when all you wanted was someone to listen to your problems and help you. I'm disgusting, because I sat there and let you pour your heart out to me, while everything you said made me like you even more. I love your flaws Louis, possibly because they match my own, and I'm sure there's a lot that can be analyzed in that, but I don't really care to do it. So that's it, I guess.”

Nick wraps his arms around himself, and sucks in air, trying to catch his breath. That's another thing Louis doesn't know about Nick; that he likes the sound of his own voice. He talks a lot. Well, he guesses Louis knows now. There are a lot of things he knows about Nick now, and oh god. He looks up at Louis.

Louis is still standing there, staring at him, like he doesn't quite know what to say. He opens his mouth, and then closes it again. He takes a step towards Nick, and then stops.

“I didn't know you could talk so much,” he says finally, and Nick lets out a bark of laughter.

“Yeah, well.” He runs a hand through his quiff, lets it fall to his side.

“I like it,” Louis says, “I really, really like it.”

“Louis, I...”

“I like it, but that's enough for now, I think. While I'm learning things about you, I'd really like to know how you are at kissing.” Louis bites his bottom lip, like he's nervous, like he's not sure what Nick will do. Nick wants to wipe the uncertain look straight off his face, so he closes the distance between them in a split-second, tilts Louis' chin up to his, and crushes his lips to Louis'.

He keeps a firm grip on Louis' jaw, puts him where he wants him. Louis' lips part on a gasp, and Nick sweeps his tongue inside. He does it again when Louis' tongue darts out to meet his, unsure at first, until Nick presses back in harder. He sucks Louis' bottom lip between his teeth, bites down softly, and presses one more firm kiss to Louis' mouth before he lets him go and steps back.

“I guess you and Harry will have something to talk about, then.” Louis says, voice rough and low with want. I did that, Nick thinks, that was me.

“What, making out with you?”

“No, for fuck's sake, you really are an arse, aren't you? I was going to say pretentious music, you mentioned before.”

He says it fondly, and Nick feels like he's won a battle. “Good, because I was hoping I'd be staying 'round at your flat a lot.”

“Presumptuous.” Louis says, but he wraps his arms low around Nick as he says it, pulls his hips flush to his own.

“Yeah, I am,” Nick mutters, leaning down to press his forehead to Louis', “How does that make you feel?”

“Like I need to find myself a new shrink.” Louis laughs, letting out a shriek as Nick hoists him up until his legs are wrapped around Nick's waist.

“It'd probably be for the best.” Nick confirms, and he kisses the grin right off of Louis' face.

**Author's Note:**

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